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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30086715">Open Your Arms, Let Me Stay</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/apacketofseeds/pseuds/apacketofseeds'>apacketofseeds</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Monty Python's Flying Circus</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(Technically sharing a sleeping bag), Camping, Delusions, Gulliver as Clodagh Rodgers, M/M, Pre-Slash, Sharing a Bed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:00:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>796</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30086715</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/apacketofseeds/pseuds/apacketofseeds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Several Tupperware-related accidents left him with one squashed roll and a handful of ginger biscuits, barely enough for a half day’s cycling. The subsequent auto collision meant he now had a second mouth to feed. Mr Gulliver, or Miss Clodagh he should say, didn’t appear interested in food, however. Clodagh only wanted to sing.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mr Pither/Reginald Gulliver</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Open Your Arms, Let Me Stay</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>The title is a lyric from Clodagh Rodgers’ Jack in a Box.</p><p>Apparently, Pither was originally scripted as a George, but as the Russians introduce him as ‘Reg Pither’, I’ve gone with Reginald. The Pythons seem to find giving characters the same names or reusing names funny, so hopefully having two Reginalds isn't a problem!</p><p>Thanks boyslightup for sharing your lovely Pither/Gulliver to the world. It made me so happy! Here’s some more &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Reginald’s rucksack had provisions for four days. Boiled eggs. Corn beef rolls. Crisps. Individual lemon curd tartlets in foil cases. He’d packed them for those longer cycles between Truro and Falmouth, then north-west to Redruth on the A393 through to Camborne. He’d planned refreshment stops of course—he’d marked bakeries and public houses he hoped to visit on his map—but he hadn’t planned on… this. </p><p>Several Tupperware-related accidents left him with one squashed roll and a handful of ginger biscuits, barely enough for a half day’s cycling. The subsequent auto collision meant he now had a second mouth to feed. Mr Gulliver, or Miss Clodagh he should say, didn’t appear interested in food, however. Clodagh only wanted to sing. </p><p>Their campfire crackled beside Reginald’s one-man tent. Such a sound was typically soothing. Tonight, however, it was accompanied by Clodagh’s feet marching around the flames, her persistent humming of Jack in a Box’s refrain, and the occasional thud when she fell over. Reginald was beginning to get very worried about her. He’d said so in his journal that he now slipped into his pack.</p><p>“Why don’t you try and get some sleep, my dear?” Reginald asked again, poking his head through the flap of his tent’s vestibule. “I’ve made room for you in here.” </p><p>Clodagh’s eyes reflected the flames as she stared at him, the fire between them. Her behaviour had been maniacal for some hours now, and it showed. What had been Gulliver’s smooth pale skin was now dark eyebags and mottled cheeks. Twigs protruded from glossy black curls. That lovely dark blue suit had mud all over the knees and sleeves, polka-dot pocket square lost some hours ago in the woods. </p><p>Reginald tried again, now he had Clodagh’s attention. “If not sleep, then a nice lie down, perhaps? They do the world of good when one is on the move.” When that didn’t work, he added, “And for saving one’s voice...” </p><p>Success was Clodagh crawling inside the tent and curling up on a corner of groundsheet like a stray kitten. They had one sleeping bag between them. Luckily, it unzipped fully around its edges, allowing Reginald to lay it out as a square. The extra blanket roll he’d packed for emergencies would not go to waste.</p><p>“Come, my dear,” he said, rubbing the soft fabric invitingly. “It’s much more comfortable over here.” </p><p>The poor thing was trembling—that’s what walking around in the middle of the night without adequate layering did—and as Clodagh slithered across the cramped space, Reginald was reminded who he shared a tent with. Not a young girl, but a man. He played along with the delusion to make things easier, of course, but when that other warm body pressed to his, he could only think of the sweet-mannered young man who’d made him his passenger earlier today, who’d been so knowledgeable about cycling, and who’d cared so much for the safety of his packed lunch.</p><p>“There,” Reginald said, clearing his throat. “That’s better, isn’t it?”</p><p>Gulliver – Clodagh – gasped, pulling away sharply and peering down between their bodies.</p><p>“Oh.” Heat flooded Reginald’s cheeks. “Tent peg.” He tossed the hard, wooden item that’d prodded Clodagh’s stomach aside and rolled onto his back. Their predicament might be slightly less awkward if they weren’t facing each other. </p><p>The man with an imagined personality settled, shuffling closer under the blanket. His chest pressed to Reginald’s side, and there seemed nothing particularly unnatural about his face nestling into the crook of his shoulder. If anything, this position was most convenient for the small space they shared. They were both comfortable, both sufficiently warm. It was most pleasant.</p><p>They lay quietly in the darkness for a while, the only sounds the fire’s distant crackling and their shared, steady breathing. Until,</p><p>“Mr Pither?” </p><p>That singsong voice had Reginald turning back to his companion in earnest. Beneath the blanket’s thin cotton, a hand took his, fingers squeezing tight. Reginald found he didn’t mind at all.</p><p>“You’ll look after me, won’t you?”</p><p>Reginald squeezed back. “Well, of course I will, Clodagh.” </p><p>“I know… something’s wrong with me.”</p><p>“There’s nothing wrong with you.”</p><p>Gulliver’s voice was hard to deny, cutting through the delusion for a moment as he whispered a raw, honest, “I’m… scared.” </p><p>Reginald reached out to comfort him, stopping himself before his hand touched the other man’s face. Whether he spoke to Clodagh or Gulliver was irrelevant; he didn’t want to behave inappropriately. He righted Gulliver's bandage instead. It had slipped down, almost covering one of his lovely brown eyes. </p><p>“Everything will be better in the morning, my dear.”</p><p>He wished he could promise that, but besides gorgeous stretches of Cornish countryside seen from the seat of his trusty bicycle, he had no idea what tomorrow might bring.</p>
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